Karen Walker

I unwrap a bottle of Tuscan herb infused olive oil, untie the white bow

And break down. I flee family Christmas dinner. bottle Glass. Shards. I hear John snort: ‘God, she used to love to cook.’ He’s sorry for my fuss. They comfort him. infused To instil hope, he tells them what I’m trying — treatment dripped into my arm. Drug vs. drug. But the turkey is getting cold. Debate: ‘Go […]

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Mom with brownies

  A steamy summer day, but there’s a chill as I open the door. Mom’s arrived with brownies. “Here you go,” she says. “Yum!” Former fat girl error. I should’ve greeted her first. Mom’s frosty. “This is your Grandmother’s platter, you know.” The village pictured on the china is snow-covered. “They’re all for you. Your

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